


Olympic Tryouts (part 30)

by jennamacaroni



Series: Olympic Tryouts [30]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 23:07:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2791067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennamacaroni/pseuds/jennamacaroni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana and Brittany have been rivals in the college hockey world for the past four years. now they’re both at Olympic tryouts to play on the same team and Boston and Minnesota just don’t get along, okay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Olympic Tryouts (part 30)

**Author's Note:**

> i have fallen into a rabbit hole of adorable idiot hockey players that i cannot climb out of. part 30 is hereeeeee.
> 
> thanks to each and everyone who takes the time to read this fic and especially that review or message me. y’all are simply the best and i really appreciate every word. sorry if anyone read this already without reading part 29 first, major fail by me...

When they get back to the dorms, Rachel is still nowhere to be found. They check her room, all three common areas, the kitchen, laundry room and even the basement, but no Rachel.

“Where could she possibly have gone?” Santana whines, rubbing absently at the small lump on the back of her head as they climb back up the basement stairs. They need to find her. Need to make sure she doesn’t tell Coach Taylor, because this is exactly what they _didn’t_ want to happen. What they promised _wouldn’t_ happen. Exactly what could get them sent home.

But even as they ask other teammates they run into throughout the building, no one has seen Rachel in hours.

_____

Santana has an idea. If Rachel is upset, where in the whole campus would she go to hide out and calm down?

“I’ll be back, Britt,” Santana calls, pulling on her sneakers and grabbing her keys on the way out the door.

“Where are you go-” But Santana is already half way down the stairs and doesn’t answer, jogging out the front door and taking off across campus.

_____

The greens and walkways around the auditorium’s corner of campus are deserted as Santana pulls open the double doors to the building. She can hear Rachel long before she sees her, her powerful singing voice penetrating through the lobby as Santana enters, the sound hitting her full-force and crawling under her skin in the best way Rachel always does when she sings. She is alone at center stage, hands open and motioning with each emphasized lyric, singing with no music. _Don’t Rain on My Parade_. Typical. But as much as Santana likes to tease her for it, Rachel was born for the stage.

Santana makes it to the front row and takes a seat, waiting for Rachel to notice she’s got company. It doesn’t happen until Rachel’s finished, exhaling deeply one last time before finally opening her eyes. Santana claps just because.

“Santana! You really shouldn’t sneak up on someone like that!”

“I could say the same for you, Rach.” The lack of sassy nicknames is how Rachel can already tell this will be a serious conversation.

“I’m sorry-”

“No. Listen, Rachel. _I’m_ sorry. I’m sorry to have put you in this position at all, seriously. We weren’t thinking and both thought the rink was deserted-” Santana explains, looking way helplessly.

“It’s okay,-”

“No, it’s not,” Santana interrupts, shaking her head as she looks back to Rachel. “It was reckless and idiotic. I’m acting like some lovestruck horny teenager and I promised that whatever this is with Brittany wouldn’t get in the way of the team and it’s already ruining things.”

“You haven’t ruined anything, Santana. I’m not going to tell anyone. Well, except for Quinn because I owe her twenty bucks fair and square, but I’ll make sure it’s clear not to get out to the rest of the team, especially Coach.”

“Rach-”

“I get it, you know? I get it when you meet someone and nothing else seems as important. Every moment is the best moment of your life and it’s addicting and nearly impossible to resist.” At that Santana finds herself speechless. “I get it. Stop worrying.”

“Thank you, Rachel.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Want to walk back with me?” Santana asks, nodding to the stage exit.

“No, I think I’ll stay awhile longer. It feels good to sing sometimes.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Santana smiles, giving Rachel a long and tight hug. “Wolfpack for life, okay?”

“Aroooooo!” Rachel howls, turning her chin to the sky as Santana barks with laughter on her way out the door.

_____

After the hour long drive into Denver, Brittany and Santana spend dinner with their knees pressed together under the table, toasting to their second official date with glasses of deep and rich red wine and warm slices of bruschetta. Brittany’s eyes darken when Santana absently licks her finger tips after popping the last bit of the toast into her mouth and so Santana is sure to wink for good measure.

They hold hands over the table in between courses, order second glasses of wine and trade stories, bantering back and forth easier than Santana’s ever felt with anyone. Brittany asks every question she can think of: the mascots of every school Santana has ever attended, how much she got from the tooth fairy when she was a kid, how old she was when she stopped believing in Santa, how many stitches she’s had. Santana has to think about that last one, tugging her lip between her teeth as she thinks hard and counts aloud. “Well, eight with my eye, you know that story. Three when I busted my knee and needed surgery back in freshman year, and sixteen when I needed pins put in my pinkie finger when I was ten. So, twenty seven total,” she wags her eyebrows and brings the wineglass to her lips, taking a long sip.

“Okay, Frankenstein, you beat me. I’ve never had any.”

“You’ve never had stitches?” Santana is dumbstruck. “But you’re a hockey player!”

“Yeah? And? Are those mutually exclusive? Can’t have one without the other?”

“I mean, _yeah_. I don’t know if I’ve ever _met_ a hockey player who’s never had to get sewn up before!”

“Oh, is this a normal conversation piece for you? Do you use it on _all_ the girls to woo them?” At that Santana’s face turns red as a tomato as she struggles to keep her Joe Cool-smile. Luckily the waiter saves her from further teasing as he appears with their entrées.

“Saved by the bell!”

“Mmmhmm, sure, butthead.”

_____

After sharing a perfectly crusted creme brulée and their third glasses of wine, Santana pays the bill and holds Brittany’s jacket while she slips her arms in. They leave the restaurant giddy and a little drunk, walking slowly hand in hand down the row of quaint window shops and cafés and smiling at each other every few steps like lovestruck puppies. Santana leads the way to their next stop, holding open the door to a cozy pub where they climb into a low-lit corner booth and order dark beers, Santana purposely giving herself a thick upper lip of foam with her very first sip that Brittany just has to kiss off.

“He sounds good,” Brittany comments, nodding towards the twenty-something scruffy hipster singing from small stage in the far corner and playing one of those upright pianos common to grade school auditoriums. Santana doesn’t recognize the song but Brittany is right, hipster bro’s high falsetto is incredibly beautiful and soothing over the low harmonies pressed through the piano keys.

“He does,” she agrees, and Brittany is there to kiss her again.

_____

When Santana finishes the beer and there’s a break in the music, she excuses herself and gets up to use the restroom. But instead of returning to her seat, she grabs a black acoustic guitar from the corner of the stage, nods to the bartender that she’s ready and drags the solitary stool to the front of the stage. She strums through a few quiet chords, ensuring the guitar is in tune before clearing her throat into the microphone. Her eyes are on Brittany in the corner of the room who is checking her phone and has yet to notice that Santana isn’t in fact in the bathroom any longer. “Hi,” she starts, swallowing her nerves as Brittany looks up in complete surprise, blinking in the direction of the stage. Her mouth falls open into a perfect little ‘o’ and Santana grins. Time for the real wooing.

“Um, I’m just going to play one quick song that I’m sure you all know. Brittany, this is for you.”

Guitar has always come easy to her, ever since her dad began pulling her into his lap and forming her tiny fingers into chords on the strings of his Spanish guitar. _Here’s an E major, mija, and pull up one finger and you have E minor_. She closes her eyes as she strums the opening chord progression, her father’s words in her head over the idle chatter from around the pub. _Let your fingers do the work, Santana, feel the music take you over. Feel it here_ , he says, pointing to her heart.

And then she sings.

“ _Your love is bright as ever even in the shadows. Baby, kiss me before they turn the lights out. Your heart is glowing and I’m crashing into you. Baby kiss me, kiss me, before they turn the lights out._ ”

When she finally finds the courage to open her eyes mid-way through the first verse, Brittany’s palm is covering her open mouth like she can’t quite believe her eyes. Santana smiles sheepish as she continues to sing, her cheeks reddening with each word. At this point the pub is quiet except the strumming of her guitar and her own voice. Heads poke out of booths and chairs scrape the hardwood floors as they’re turned in her direction, their occupants rapt with attention.

She’s known she could sing ever since she was small. Solos in all the elementary school productions, years of chorus throughout middle and high school all culminating in an All-State choral award, but she’s never loved singing by herself on stage, strangely crippling nerves constantly holding her back in a way that playing hockey never did. But as she finally makes it to the chorus of the song and Brittany is looking at her like her best thing, like she couldn’t possibly be prouder, Santana’s courage swells.

“ _In the darkest night I’ll search through the crowd. Your face is all that I see, I’m giving you everything, baby, love me lights out. We don’t have forever, baby, daylight’s wasting. You better kiss me before time has run out._ ” She catches Brittany swipe at her misty eyes and Santana’s heart grows another size. “ _Nobody sees what we see, they’re just hopelessly gazing, oh baby take me, take me, before they turn the lights out, before time has run out_.”

Brittany looks completely amazed as she continues through the song because _how_ , and Santana half-shrugs, answering Brittany’s unspoken question. _I don’t know why I never told you. Surprise, Britt-Britt_.

Her hands stop shaking as she moves into the final chorus. “ _I love you like XO, you love me like XO, you kill me girl XO, you love me like XO. It’s all that I see, I’m giving you everything, baby love me lights out. Oh you can turn my lights out._ ” She closes her eyes once more as she strums the final chords, smiling to herself as the entire pub bursts into raucous cheers and applause, most of them pushing up from their seats for an ovation. Her smile is wide as she gives a quick “thank you” and retreats from stage, accepting a few high fives on her way back to Brittany and sliding back into the booth.

“I don’t even know what to say,” Brittany breathes, her throat thick and strained. “That was. You were. _Beautiful_. I can’t believe you. I have to kiss you right now, okay? I can’t stand it another second.”

“Okay,” Santana agrees as Brittany presses her face with both hands, rubbing her thumbs along Santana’s cheek bones and pressing their lips together, soft and slow. For some reason, Santana thinks this kiss feels different than all the others, although she can’t put a finger on why. After Brittany finally pulls away, her smile is so bright that Santana can’t help but kiss her again.

“Your voice-” Brittany starts, pausing to gather her thoughts, eyes sparkling. “It’s like tasting a spoonful of the silkiest and smoothest gelato. Like a shock of cold to your system, but rich and creamy with this incredible depth of flavor. Like you can _feel_ the love and passion with each taste and one bite is never enough. I am never going to get enough, Santana. Although I can’t believe you’ve been hiding it this long. How did Quinn let you get away with not doing any karaoke at Tina’s party? How have I never hear you sing in the shower?”

Santana shrugs, toying with a ring on Brittany’s finger and spinning it around and around. “A girl’s gotta have secrets, right?”

“Santana-”

“I get nerves singing on my own. Like on stage or in front of other people. Always have. So once I graduated from high school I just kind of stopped. Other things became more important.”

“Well, that was the most wonderful and gorgeous thing I have ever seen you do, and trust me, the list is long.”

“Britt,” Santana whines, sheepishly trying to play off the compliment as best she can.

“You can get over being embarrassed when I compliment you, okay? Because I’m not ever going to stop. You deserve every single one and I’m going to make sure you know it, okay?”

“Okay, Britt-Britt.”

_____

They stick around for another hour pressed against each other and just talking. Every so often someone else performing catches their attention, but Brittany shrugs most of them off, claiming none of them could hold a candle to Santana and how she bets the entire bar is begging for an encore.

“Maybe next time, B,” Santana chuckles, rolling her eyes playfully. “Ready to go? Got a bit of a drive back to the Springs.”

“Only if you promise to sing to me on the way home. Pleeeease?” Brittany begs, clutching Santana’s arm for emphasis.

“Whatever you want, Britt.” As if Santana could ever deny her anything at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Song is John Mayer’s cover of Beyonce’s XO. Google it and listen immediately. It’s a requirement of reading the fic :D


End file.
